


Toxic

by Demon_Apostle



Series: Dragon Age Keep [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arguing, Attempt at Humor, M/M, Near Death Experiences, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demon_Apostle/pseuds/Demon_Apostle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and Blackwall can't seem to stop arguing. Nearly choking on toxic gas was not how the Inquisitor wanted to make them stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toxic

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of Dragon Age. I wanted to do something involving Death Drink Springs in the Western Approach after my party and character decided to start hacking up lungs whenever I got close.

So they weren’t the best of friends. Not like anyone expected them to get along anyway. They just had to work together long enough to kill Corypheus and that would be the end of it. But you can’t exactly work together when you’re arguing with the other person at every waking second. Honestly, who thought it was a good idea to go trudging through the sand with a scowling warden, a sweaty mage, and a dwarf that cracked a joke at every opportunity he got.

 

Including the times they only made things worse. So, why not crack a joke the moment a Tevinter mage and a Grey Warden start hitting each other with sarcastic words.

 

“If I didn’t already know that Sparkler was in a relationship with our dear Inquisitor I’d think you two were a married couple.” Both Blackwall and Dorian shot a glare at Varric while Cyros giggled ahead of them. He was happy for that little moment of humor since the bickering had started to grate on his nerves. But that little moment quickly vanished once Dorian opened his mouth again.

 

“Please do not suggest something so vulgar. I don’t think I’d be able to stomach the thought a second time.” Blackwall’s glare switched from Varric to Dorian.

 

“Finally, something we agree on. I’d never be able to constantly look at your annoying face. I’m still not sure how the Inquisitor can.”

 

“Simple. He has taste where you have none.”

 

“One doesn’t need taste to know that you are a bad choice for a partner.” Either Dorian ran out of witty lines to throw back at Blackwall or he was simply tired of arguing for the moment since silence had finally reared its head. Cyros was certain though that Dorian was simply taking a break from the bickering. There was no way that Dorian would fail to come up with witty comebacks.

 

Currently they were trying to locate the material Frederic would need to lure in the high dragon resting somewhere in the Western Approach. They had already managed to get Quillback intestines and were now trying to find the Phoenix tail feather. Currently, wandering around had not produced a Phoenix or its tail feather. They walked a little further when they began to smell something foul. Cyros coughed and covered his nose.

 

“What is that smell?” Varric began his own coughing fit and cleared his throat.

 

“That’s even worse than some of the drunks falling down at the Hanged Man. And that’s saying something.” More coughs and sputters until Dorian managed to speak himself.

 

“You big hairy lummox, if you’re going to let one go you could at least warn everyone.” Blackwall whipped his head towards Dorian, a gloved hand firmly clamped over his nose and mouth.

 

“That wasn’t me. For all we know you did something with your cursed magic.”

 

“If I did anything like this with my magic it would only affect you. Not that you need help smelling any worse than you already do.” And the bickering started again. Cyros was now forming a major headache, a mix of the foul stench and the idiotic arguing. His head began to pound as they continued walking until he finally couldn’t take anymore.

 

“Will you both please shut up?!” He twirled on the ball of his heel to face them but the movement only made his headache worse. He became dizzy and stumbled, his foot sliding on the loose sand and he fell down a nearby cliff before the others could react. Panic overtook them and they stood at the edge of the cliff, looking at the spot where Cyros was now laying. The elf groaned before another coughing fit overtook him. He slowly got up only to have his legs give out from under him. His limbs felt weak and his head felt like it was going to split.

 

“Amatus!” Cyros looked up at the ledge he had fallen from to see his three companions giving him concerned looks, Dorian more worried by the looks of it.

 

“Are you alright?!” He wanted to speak but breathing hurt and he couldn’t seem to stop coughing. He looked around with tears in his eyes and saw a nearby pool releasing a green gas. It was then that he remembered Leliana’s words.

 

_Be careful Inquisitor. My agents stumbled upon this cloud of gas while scouting the area. It doesn’t appear deadly in small doses but it can be harmful if you inhale it too much. It’s apparently called Death Drink Springs for a reason._

 

Of course he had to fall down a cliff and right into the place Leliana warned him about. He never seems to be able to catch a break. But Cyros knew he needed to get away from the gas and quick. He just wasn’t sure he had the strength to climb the somewhat steep cliff back towards his companions. Speaking of which, they seemed to be speaking just low enough that he couldn’t hear. Or his ability to hear was suddenly affected as well.

 

Meanwhile, Dorian and Blackwall were back to arguing about how to help the Inquisitor currently surrounded by a cloud of toxic green gas.

 

“Do you not know anything about magic? I can’t just suddenly create a rope from thin air and throw it to him. Why don’t you use your Grey Warden abilities or something? Oh, that’s right, you’re useless unless we’re up against darkspawn.”

 

“It was a suggestion! I don’t see you coming up with any ideas to save the Inquisitor. And you’re supposed to be his partner. What good are you if you can’t even save the person you love?” Dorian’s face twisted into rage as his hand twitched towards his staff.

 

“Do not think that my feelings are not genuine just because I act differently towards you. I care for the Inquisitor just as much as the next person, possibly more. No, definitely more.”

 

“Well you have a hell of a way of proving it.” Varric was watching the exchange passively, wondering just how long it would take before they realized the Inquisitor was probably going to die choking on gas at the bottom of a cliff. He sighed, grabbing Bianca off his back and taking a piece of rope out of the small pack he carried with them for emergencies.

 

He tied one end of the rope to one of his arrows before inserting it into Bianca. He aimed next to Cyros before letting the arrow fly where it landed in arm’s length of the elf. Varric grabbed onto the other end of the rope and looked at the other companions who stopped arguing when they heard the arrow being released from the crossbow.

 

“Are you going to help or let him perish down there?” They quickly grabbed the rope and Varric yelled at Cyros to grab the other end. The elf, whose vision had been quickly blurring into one color, managed to latch his hand around the arrow not far from him. Something in the back of his mind told him to thank Varric for not lodging the arrow into his hand after they pulled him out. Which he hoped was soon. The effects of the gas were worsening by the minute.

 

Cyros felt the arrow start moving away from him. In his gas-induced haze, Cyros began to panic, thinking that his only chance to survive was leaving him. He quickly grabbed the arrow with his free hand and held on with as much strength as he could muster. He felt his arms stretch as his body was pulled over the sand, feeling some seep into his armor wherever there were gaps. Higher he went until he was being dragged by two figures who let him lay on the heated sand.

 

“Are you alright, Amatus?” Cyros took in the cleaner air, coughing whenever he took in too much at once. His head began to clear but he still felt weary. He felt his body shift and a shorter figure was looming over him.

 

“We should take him back to camp. He looks paler than usual.”

 

“You can tell?” A gruff voice that sounded surprised.

 

“There’s pale and then there’s deathly pale my dear warden. He was just a few shades darker.”

 

“I’ve seen deathly pale Varric. Our dear Inquisitor is much closer than a few shades.”

 

“Can we not talk like he’s currently not choking on air in front of us?” A more shrill voice cuts in and Cyros feels his hand move towards the sound. His hand is quickly grabbed and his body is being lifted again.

 

“Varric, you grab Blackwall’s shield. I’ll take his sword and he can carry the Inquisitor on his back until we reach camp.”

 

“At least we know how to get Dorian to show some brains. Now if only there was a way that didn’t threaten to weaken the inquisition, I’d be ecstatic.”

 

“Quit talking and do as I say.”

 

“And the moment is gone.” More movement and Cyros felt something grab his legs and his chin was resting on something cool and metallic. Whatever he was on, it was unsteady but he was just happy to not have to move with his own strength.

 

Dorian watched Cyros who was currently laying limp on Blackwall’s back and staring into space. He only hoped that someone at camp would be able to help his Amatus or he’d have someone’s head. Luckily, Leliana had taken precautions after learning about the gas and the camp was stocked with potions to help cure the effects if someone inhaled too much. One of the soldiers helped Cyros with drinking the potion and he was soon standing and talking within minutes.

 

“Are you alright Inquisitor?” Cyros looked at the soldier who helped and smiled.

 

“Yes. Thank you.” She returned the smile and walked back towards her post. Cyros turned to his companions who looked at him with relieved expressions.

 

“What happened exactly? The last thing I remember was shouting at Dorian and Blackwall who wouldn’t stop arguing.” The two in question looked away in embarrassment so Varric decided to explain.

 

“You lost your footing and fell down a cliff and into the gas. We had to fish you out using an arrow and rope.”

 

“Where did the rope come from?” All three looked at Varric who gave them his signature smirk.

 

“Hawke may have been champion but he wasn’t the most guarded when it came to steep slopes.”

 

 ~~~~~

 

Back at Skyhold, Dorian would not let the Inquisitor out of his sight and wouldn’t let him go when they were in Cyros’ quarters. The elf was finding the situation somewhat annoying but still adorable.

 

“Why are you so worried? Afraid I’ll fall down a flight of stairs?” Dorian huffed into Cyros’ shoulder and squeezed tighter around the elf’s hips.

 

“You joke now but I’d rather not watch you nearly die of poison gas again. I like my heart not exploding out of my chest with worry thank you.” Cyros laughed and ran his fingers through Dorian’s hair.

 

“Don’t worry, ma vhenan. I don’t think Death Drink Springs will be my first choice for a lazy afternoon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ma vhenan-My heart


End file.
